The Mighty Whitecats
by Shoo-Shoo Amelia
Summary: Matthew decides to try out for the hockey team because, really, what does he have to lose? That’s when he notices that a bunch of the hockey players are looking at him like he’s a gazelle and they’re all hungry lions that haven’t eaten in forever. AU.
1. Pretty Hardcore

**Notes: What can I say? I was heavily inspired by the Olympics and, well, I just figured that this needed to be done. A quick word, though, this has more parts coming, I promise. And I was compelled to include Denmark, known here as Mathias, because I just figured he had the build for it. Alrighty, so, read away! **

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Matthew Williams has the prototypical teenaged life from every eighties' movie ever. He has a crappy job where nobody respects him; he isn't popular at school because everybody's too busy concentrating on or practically in love with his brother, Alfred, who's like the stronger, better, and more handsome version of Matthew. Except on steroids. And crack. On top of all that, he's failing Spanish which is really odd considering the amount of effort he puts into that class. With all that on his shoulders, plus crazy hormones and his frontal lobe developing, he's been in a really horrible mood lately.

The bad thing about that?

Yeah. There's his weird way of dealing with his anger and frustration. He does it passively and, to be honest, it's not exactly a walk in the park for anybody involved in it.

Seriously, because there's only so many times he can rearrange the magnet-letters on their fridge to say "Stop being an attention-whore, Alfred" before his brother figures out it's him and not ghosts or aliens. And there's only so many times he can leave post-it notes on his Dad's bathroom mirror that say things like: "Thanks for forgetting to pick me up, Dad." or, "Thanks for flirting with my teachers, Dad." or even, "Thanks for leaving your vibrator on the kitchen table, Dad." before his Dad gets annoyed. It's actually pretty sad that even some of his friends at school forget his name or mistake him for his brother. So, he leaves them little notes that always say, "Where's Matthew?"

So, to try and get rid of his frustration, Matthew thinks he needs to find something productive to do with his free time. Some sort of outlet. Or something.

***

Matthew's frustration reaches a crazy boiling point on a Saturday morning. It's chilly in his room and it's mildly uncomfortable and it's ten in the morning. Matthew wakes up to his phone vibrating loudly next to his ear. Matthew really can't do anything except check the text that he has apparently received. It's from his Dutch friend, Lukas, who smokes pot like he never left Amsterdam, and Matthew might just have to kill him and then himself.

"Just realized I'm too high to take the plastic off a slice of cheese." Matthew reads and he feels a pit of gloom and melancholy and despair start up in his stomach.

"Does this mean you're not driving me to work today?" Matthew texts back, chewing his lower lip and worrying at a string on his pajama bottoms.

"That's exactly what it means." The text winks up at him and Matthew groans. That pit of doom and gloom and depression turns into something a little scarier. Matt's pissed. No. Scratch that. He's beyond pissed. He's so angry he doesn't even know _what_ he is right now. And with his luck, no one in his immediate five-mile vicinity will notice he's in a bad mood. Not that they would notice him, anyway. Besides, Matthew mopes, there's no way he's getting back to sleep now. So, he gets up and goes to the kitchen to have breakfast.

Matthew is in the kitchen for less than five minutes when he hears his Dad's door open. Matt opens his mouth to tell his Dad that if he doesn't hurry up, he'll miss his church service, when he hears it.

"Buenos días, Alfredo!" Is the cheery chortle that Matthew gets in return. Firstly, that is _definitely _not his Dad's French accent. _That _isn't even his Dad's language. Two, Matthew is not now and never will be Alfred or Alfredo. Matthew turns around and almost drops the bag of milk when he sees his Spanish teacher running a hand through his messy hair. And there's a huge hickey on his Spanish teacher's neck. Seriously, it's. Right. There. And, as if the hickey isn't enough, Mr. Carriedo is wearing his Dad's button-up. Some synapses finally fire in his brain and Matt wonders if that's why his grade went up this week.

"Mr. Carriedo? I—What?" Matthew manages to say after the initial shock of seeing his Spanish teacher coming out of his Dad's bedroom at ten in the morning. This is weirder than any conceivable weird situation that Matthew has ever come up with in his mind.

"Alfred! Will you tell your Papá to call me when he wakes up? Gracias, mi querido! Remember your test is on Monday!" Antonio says, kissing Matthew on both cheeks and practically skipping out the door, brief case clutched loosely in his hand. Apparently, and Matthew finds this just a bit strange, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo is the only person in the whole wide world that can do the Walk Of Shame smiling like a ray of sunshine.

He definitely, without a doubt, is going to kill himself now. From the kitchen, Matthew can hear Nirvana blasting from Alfred's room. Yeah, Matthew's probably going to kill himself. Or. Get into a fight before the day is over.

***

Sanchez is Matthew's best friend.

The only bad thing about Sanchez? Everyday it's the same darn thing with him. It's just that Matthew either has _really, really_ bad luck or he just can't win in the game of Life because there's some weird crazy thing between Sanchez and Alfred that involves Sanchez wanting to beat the living daylights out of Alfred. Unfortunately for Matthew, Sanchez remains unconvinced that, even on Tuesdays, Matthew isn't Alfred. And he never _will _be Alfred. Ever. Period.

But Matt's at work one day scooping ice cream out for this shortcake who's pretty obnoxious in an endearing sort of way and doesn't really have eyebrows as much as he has caterpillars tacked up over his eyes where his eyebrows are _supposed_ to be, when Sanchez comes back from his cigarette breaks. He just looks at Matthew and chuckles a bit to himself and says,

"You know what you need?"

"A vacation? Or, maybe, a pay raise?" Matthew responds, watching the shortcake skip off happily with his ice cream cone.

"Nah, man. You need something to do after school. Like a sport or something. I don't know."

"Yes, I s'pose. But what about school? I mean, there are practices and, uhm, stuff that goes along with practicing. And games! Those-those are time consuming." Matthew says conversationally, cleaning the espresso machine and wiping the counter down.

"Yeah, so?" Sanchez asks, eyebrow quirking somewhat.

"But-school!" Matthew tries, trying to get off of this topic.

"Yeah, what about it?"

And like that it's pretty much decided. Matthew will find himself some sort of extracurricular activity.

***

They're sitting at dinner, eating something French that Alfred can't pronounce right when Matthew brings up the after school sport thing. Their Dad, Francis, is standing up and leaning on the counter having dinner: a glass of wine and a slice of bread.

"So, Dad." Matthew starts, clearing his throat marginally.

"Oui, mon chou?"

"I was thinking about, maybe, getting something to do after school." Matthew starts and their Dad stops paying attention to the evening news for a split-second to give Matthew an odd look and then, like nothing, goes back to watching a segment on the French Culture Minister.

"Oui, mais, do you not already have a job? Je t'adore, Mathieu, mais I do not think you capable of working two jobs. Besides, there is no call for you to even work _one_ job. It is quite pointless. Non, Alfred?" Francis says, swishing his wine around before taking a carefully measured sip.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Or, maybe, he wants to join a sport or something. Right, Mattie?" Alfred says, shoveling food into his mouth and possibly showing everyone in his vicinity the chewed up contents of his mouth. It's kinda disgusting and Matthew doesn't really know if he can eat anymore of his dinner. So he pushes it away from himself.

"Peut-être, mon ciel, but perhaps we need to ask your brother what he was thinking of."

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead, Mattie." Alfred says, downing a gulp of his massive slurpie from the gas station around the corner.

And just like that, something odd happens; Matthew actually has the floor and the undivided attention from both his sibling _and_ his parent. Well, apparently, dreams _do_ come true.

"I was thinking of maybe joining a sport. Something to serve as an outlet, ya know?"

"An outlet, mon chou? For what? You are not an aggressive person. Ton frère, oui. But you, mon ange? You are not mean or— or aggressive for that matter!" Francis continues, taking a small piece of bread and popping it in his mouth.

"Right, you don't know that." Alfred mumbles, finishing his food and taking another large gulp pf his slurpie and petulantly staring at Matthew over the rim of his giant cup that you could fit three hamsters in.

Matthew flushes a bit and looks at the table cloth shamefully. He loves his brother but sometimes, Alfred just annoys the _heck_ out of him and. Okay. So it gets a little out of hand sometimes but Alfred can't always be the hero and accuse people who don't think the same way he does of being communists or fascists. And, okay, so it's a bit catty and mean on Matthew's part that he picks at Alfred's flaws until he's ready to cry when they get into a fight. And, yeah, Matthew can be a bit of a jerk when calling his brother fat. He's not really. But. Sometimes, Alfred just deserves it. And, really? Matthew should be entitled to mean streaks every now and then because Alfred is the. Biggest. Dick. Ever. And that's being polite about it.

"Alfred, chaton, let your brother speak."

"Sure thing, Dad." Alfred says, blinks lethargically and turns too-blue eyes toward Matthew.

"Well—I was thinking about joining a sports team. Maybe-uhm, soccer." Matthew says in his best loud voice, staring at the spot on the wall right above Dad's shoulder. Please. God, let this work.

It gets really quiet and Matthew is pretty sure that his family has completely forgotten about him because, hey, that happens all the time. And, maybe, Matthew is wishing, right now more than ever in his life that his invisibility powers would suddenly just click on. But they're not. And it's sort of intimidating the way Alfred and Dad are staring at him and not saying anything. At all. And that's really scary and disturbing because Alfred's mouth never takes a holiday and Dad? Well, Dad is Dad. He is never quiet, not even during Church services. And then, all hell breaks loose.

If there's one thing that Matthew knows about his Dad, it's the fact that the Frenchman tends to be overdramatic. And, surprise surprise, that's exactly what happens. Francis sets his wine glass down and promptly proceeds to have some sort of verbal fit in rapid fire French that Matthew can only grasp a few scraps of. Alfred stops gaping at him and starts laughing. Loudly. All in all, Matthew's already low self-esteem has reached a new low score. And then his Dad swoons a bit. Normally, that's not alarming because his Dad, in all his French glory, is always putting his hand to his head and pretending to faint into a conveniently placed chair. Except this time, his Dad's staged swoon doesn't go exactly as planned.

It's probably because, one, there's no chair to collapse into and pretend to get over whatever. Two, his Dad loses his balance and falls. Backwards. And cracks his head on the edge of the counter. And, now, his Dad's out cold. Matthew goes into some sort of crazed panic attack. Alfred? He's laughing so hard he's completely useless. Then again, Alfred is useless in more situations that aren't potentially life threatening.

So, with no help at all from his brother, Matthew hauls his fallen parent into a chair and Alfred, crying from laughing too hard, is trying (and failing) to shovel some ice into a bag usually reserved for sandwiches.

After a while, their Dad wakes up, with a bag of ice on his head and his pupils not reacting to light at all, Alfred wipes the tears from his eyes and says, "Dad, you probably have a concussion. Awh, man, Mattie, great joke! I mean, it was priceless. Completely boss. You? In a sport? Oh, man, you're a riot, Mattie. Athletic, that's _fun_ny."

Inevitably, Matthew bristles noticeably because he could make a sports team if he really wanted to. He wants to say something but he doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings right now. He blushes and stares at his feet. His physical condition isn't really that atrocious. At least he doesn't get winded going up the stairs like their Dad.

"I'm being serious about this." Matthew says quietly, shuffling his feet somewhat.

"Mon fils, mon ange! You cannot be serious! You-you could risk getting hurt! What if something hits your face? Your beautiful face, Mathieu. You could— mon chou, listen to me. You come home sweaty and smelly and—"

"Whatever, you're always like that. Sweaty and smelly. It wouldn't make a difference. Why don'tcha just go ahead and take a shower, Dad?" Alfred mumbles and Francis doesn't quite catch it. Thank God for Dad's selective hearing.

"And depending on what sport you play, you could come back dirty! You'll play in the mud, in the _dirt!_ You'll come home with dirty shoes and make marks all over my floor!"

"Dad, I—" And it is just so typical that Matthew is overshadowed by Alfred shouting.

"Dad, seriously, just take it slow."

"_Alfred_, I am taking it slow."

"Since when do you even _care_ about what we do after school?" Alfred presses, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

"I don't! I am only saying, please. Mathieu, please do not track your mud all over my nice floors. And keep yourself smelling fresh, oui, mon chou?" Francis says, pressing the ice pack closer to his head and sighing a little.

"You don't smell like a spring rose so much yourself." Alfred mumbles cheekily, rolling his eyes.

Once again, Matthew feels the need to point out his parental unit's selective hearing.

"Ugh, je crois que je vomirai."

And maybe, for just a tiny split-second, Matthew thinks his dad deserves to have a concussion. Only because he can't remember Matthew's birthday. But then he feels terrible about it and hopes it just some sort of bruise.

***

After the dinner debacle, Matthew figures that he needs to find a sport that won't completely annihilate his Dad's floor. But, Matthew figures, he needs to start with try-outs. He runs through a list of sports in his head and decides he should start out with track and cross-country. So, he tries out. It goes pretty bad because the Vargas brothers are fantastic at running away and, well, Matthew doesn't stand a chance against them. This is Monday.

Tuesday, Matthew shows up in the gym and people are swarming him, hands slapping his ass and groping him and Matthew lets out a squawk and pulls himself out of the massive, writhing orgy of people who have, once again, mistaken him for his brother. And Matthew's pretty sure he's never heard his brother about getting felt up by basketball players. Ever.

"Jones, I already told you to stay outta here." Matt is too terrified to correct the mistake. Which means, basketball is a definite 'no' for both Matthew and his brother. If only to protect his brother from getting gang-banged.

On Wednesday, Matthew stays after his Spanish class to help Mr. Carriedo—who insists on being called 'Antonio' now. Yeah, really,— take some equipment out to the field. Before practice starts, Mr. Carriedo kicks the ball a bit too hard and it nails Matthew in the face. Hard. Matthew reels back and falls on the groomed grass of the soccer field. Matthew feels a trickle of something wet down his nose. Oh, great. That must be from his glasses cutting into his nose. The worst thing about the whole thing? Matthew feels guiltier than Mr. Carriedo.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Matthew says, springing up from the ground and running off of the field. Soccer is out, too.

The next day, Thursday, Matthew goes up to Sadiq Adnan and asks about wrestling. He stops eating face with his boyfriend, Heracles or something, and just glares at Matthew. He doesn't look. He _glares. _He_ glares _at _Matthew_. And that's when Matthew activates his really fantastic "Invisibility-Please-Forget-Me" powers and manages to camouflage himself up against the tan lockers. Sadiq looks around for a second and decides that, nah, there ain't anyone around and goes back to eating Heracles' brain out of his mouth. Matthew decides, hey, maybe wrestling isn't for him.

It's the end of the school day and he gets excused from his study hall to go help out with a Phys. Ed class. They're playing lacrosse today and Matthew watches a prissy little blond, Feliks flounce this way and that on the field, not really doing anything except avoiding the mud. And, hey, that could be something Matthew could handle. So, he asks the coach is he can play and, sure enough, he throws Matthew a Crosse and tells Matthew to knock himself out.

So, Matthew goes onto the field and everything goes really well until Feliks and Matthew are having some sort of lacrosse face-off. Maybe what happens next is just Matthew's bad luck and bad timing or maybe it's just Feliks asserting his position as Head Bitch but when the Coach said 'Knock yourself out', Matthew didn't think that anyone would take it seriously. Either way, the next thing he knows, Feliks is bashing him in the face with the Crosse viciously. And. It. Hurts. Really. Really. Bad. And that's probably because the bruise on the side of his face from getting soccer ball'd hasn't quite healed.

By the end of the school week, Matthew has a black eye, a busted lip, and a bruised-up-cut nose. So, as he's walking back to his house, Matthew decides that maybe Alfred is right and sports just aren't where Matthew belongs. As he walks through the parking lot, one of the coached from some team threatens to punch someone in the face. The coach's name is Arthur Kirkland. He is twenty-three years old. And he coaches the hockey team.

***

Arthur Kirkland had always been an angry kid. He had always been prone to getting in fights even if he declared himself a "perfect gentleman". He wasn't. But after his fourth fist fight in seventh grade, he's sitting in the guidance counselor's office. They've tried everything to get Arthur to calm down: therapy, anger management courses, rap groups, guidance counseling. Nothing's really worked for him so far.

But this time, the hockey coach is sitting in the office with them. He thinks Arthur has potential and, so, he gives the blond boy a long look and hands him a pair of skates.

He throws Arthur a pair of skates and throws him on the ice. Soon the fights are a thing of the past.

_***_

Matthew decides to try out for the hockey team because, really, what does he have to lose? That's when he notices that a bunch of the hockey players are looking at him like he's a gazelle and they're all hungry lions that haven't eaten in forever. Kirkland throws Matthew a hockey stick and a pair of skates and says,

"Have you played before?"

"Yes. Not a team before, though." Matthew says cautiously, quietly, eyes darting this way and that. He's acutely aware of his surroundings and every pair of eyes on him. He's a little twitchy because, well, he's just not used to being the center of attention. So, Matthew puts on his skates and waddles from carpeted stairs to ice.

Somehow, while he's playing, he manages to flip one of the team's centres, Berwald, in one move. It's pretty much like watching a Toyota Prius flip a monster truck: It's a little hilarious and nobody really knows how the hell it happened, but it did. Berwald sits up and shakes his head to get some balance back.

"He fl'pped m'over." Berwald says and Matthew wonders if he knocked some of the Swede's teeth out because people don't normally talk like that.

"'Ho damn!" Mathias, a right wing forward, shouts from his end of the ice. And then promptly crashes into the wall.

Needless to say, Matthew makes the team. He also feels "pretty hardcore", as Alfred would say.

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**Notes: Like I said, this is the first of about three chapters, I think. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it! Leave a review for me? Have a good day/night!**


	2. Made Of Win

**I'm at home with a sinus infection and I figure, what the hell? Why not do something productive? Plus, it's not like I have anything better to do than write tonight! So, here's another chapter. I love Norway, believe you me, and I've decided to include him here as Espen. Iceland will be making an appearance soon, too! Happy reading!**

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Berwald, Mathias, and Ludwig are pretty much Hitler's wet dream incarnate with the way they all look: big, blond, and light eyes. That and when they play, it's pretty mystifying to Matthew because they all have some sort of freaky mind link with each other. They move better together than they do apart. It's really weird. Or, at least, Matthew thinks it is.

It's weird to see them skate together at practice because they have different styles but they mesh and move so well together. Matthew sort of wants to know if it it's directly related to their hair. Except, Matthew doesn't want to get his jaw ripped out by Berwald. Or his feet cut of by Mathias. Or his eyes poked out by Ludwig.

***

These days, since Matthew has practice after school, Alfred hangs around at the practices, does his homework, and generally tries to help the team in whatever way he can. Generally though, he's just being a pain in the ass because, for whatever reason, Alfred never dresses warm enough. So, he pretty much just sits around and constantly bitches about how cold it is and, _Gosh_, wasn't there something they could do about the temperature in the building?

But having Alfred at the practices is kind of awkward because, well, Alfred might just have a mancrush on Arthur Kirkland. A. Giant. Mancrush. Alfred doesn't really know anything about hockey except that it gets Matthew pretty worked up and really, really crazy. Aggressive. Seriously. It's weird. Alfred honestly doesn't know _anything_ about it but he pretends he does when he talks with Coach Kirkland. It would probably kill him if Alfred admitted he didn't know anything about the game. But, hey, at least Alfred can tell the good play tactics from the bad ones by how much Arthur glares and yells at the team.

Alfred swears that he's going to win over Arthur by the end of the season if it _kills_ him. He's actually pretty sure he wants to have Arthur's babies. If that were even physically possible which Alfred is pretty sure it's not. Yeah, guys can't have babies. But if he could? He'd totally have Arthur's. Statutory rape accusations be damned, Alfred is going to win that man over.

***

Katya is Ivan's big sister and Matthew is a little in love with her. She's like this adorable kitten-puppy-bunny hybrid and, jeez, she's so pretty and every time she gets nervous and skittish, Matthew just wants to hug her. Matthew tells Alfred because Matthew is bad at keeping secrets. And. Well. Alfred is Alfred so he laughs. And then gets serious because this is Katya Braginski they're talking about. Katya is Ivan Braginski's big sister and that pisses Alfred off.

It's not the "Katya" part that offends Alfred. It's not even the "Big Sister" part because, yeah, Alfred has this thing for older guys that's pretty weird. It's the "Ivan" and the "Braginski" that pisses Alfred off the most. And Matthew gets it. But he doesn't.

See, Matthew thinks it a little bit silly that Alfred and Ivan can be civil to each other's face but as soon as someone's back is turned, it's the Cold War, part deux. Ivan and Alfred dated and broke up. And dated and broke up. And then dated some more. But then they broke up. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Since Freshman year, Alfred has torn through half the guys in their school. It's kind of intimidating.

"Well don't let me stop you." Alfred mumbles, sneezes and then clears his throat. He has Coach's cold and Matthew just knows something is going on there.

"Wasn't gonna let you, eh." Matthew says and hands his brother a tissue.

***

Now that Matthew is on the team, the Whitecats have three cheerleaders. They also have a really creepy mascot named Shinatty-chan. Alfred, Katya, and Ludwig's big brother, Gilbert, all do their thing as cheerleaders now that there are three of them.

They finish their cheer and turn back to the game to watch. Really, they aren't cheers as much as it's Alfred and Gilbert flailing around and shouting while Katya startles at random little things. Now that there are three of them, Alfred is determined to make a pyramid. And. He will be on top. It doesn't even matter to him that Katya is a girl or that he's broader and heavier than Gilbert. It doesn't matter. He will be on top. No. Excuses.

Beside them, dressed in the "cute" mascot suit of Shinatty-chan is Tino. He's this cute and petite senior who is dating Berwald. It would be a really normal relationship if Berwald wasn't constantly calling Tino his "wife", which is weird. And Alfred doesn't quite get that. Then again, no one really does. Tino mimics one of the skaters on the ice for Coach Kirkland's little brother, Peter, and the kid just smiles and laughs.

Alfred shouts encouragement for his brother and the rest of the team for a while. Arthur looks at him rolls his eyes and blushes a little bit. He gives Alfred a cute little smile and Alfred just grins his awesome million-watt grin right back at him. Gilbert flashes Alfred a toothy, knowing little smirk but Alfred doesn't really care about it because he's seen the way the albino guy fawns over Ludwig whenever he plays. There's definitely something going on there. He just doesn't know what. But he'll ask one day. Even if it means getting kicked in the crotch.

***

Gilbert is walking back from the concession stand with a beer when he sees Espen Landvik, a regular at the games who sits in the middle of the bleachers on the end of the middle row. Gilbert has assessed that he is awesome on _so_ many levels due to one thing that is absolutely, hands down, no contest, awesome: Espen sits in the ice rink and watches the game— in flip-flops. Fuckin' _flip-flops_.

"How the hell are you wearing flip-flops? I'm wearin' like three pairs of socks and the awesome balls in my pants are freezing off. How do you not freeze to death, man?" Gilbert asks, taking a swig of his beer.

"My mother was a snow sprite." Espen responds, voice as smooth as glass and not a hint of emotion. Not a fucking hint, man. Well, fuck it. That makes a lot of sense.

"No, you're made of win, buddy. That's what's up."

Espen looks like he wants to say something for a second but the both look over to see Vash, the team's other centre, tossing his stick aside in favor of jumping another player. And if there's one thing that Gilbert loves about hockey, it's the fights. Those are almost as awesome as he is.

***

Matthew thinks that a white cat with a creepy smile, soulless eyes, and a cute little red bow is a really ridiculous choice for a mascot. Plus, it's creepy. Really, really creepy. Like the kind of creepy that gives Matthew nightmares sometimes.

Matthew is wiping the slush off of his skates when Ivan plops down next to him.

"Why is our mascot a Hello Kitty knock-off?" Matthew asks, almost getting some feeling back in the tip of his nose but. Not quite.

Aside from sunflowers, Ivan thinks Shinatty is one of the best things in the world. It probably has something to do with being Ivan being a raging schizophrenic psychopath. Or something. Matte doesn't know. And he really doesn't want to.

"It's a diversion tactic, Matvey. The other teams find our mascot to be cuddly. They find Shinatty weirdly cute and endearing. But Shinatty is a cat. Have you ever thrown a raging and furious cat on someone, Matvey?" Ivan asks, smiling and touching the sharp edge of his ice skate.

Uh. Uhm, no. Have you?" Matthew answers, eyes nervously darting this way and that. He doesn't know if it's a good idea to talk to Ivan. He seems a bit . . .unhinged.

"Da. It is fortunate felines are not poisonous or your brother would not be alive as we speak. But, yes, people find cars to be rather adorable and then the cat becomes enraged and tears apart the vulnerable flesh of the person. Should we not all be afraid of cats?" Ivan rambles, fingers still sort of dancing along the edge of the ice skate.

Matthew doesn't say anything and wonders if Ivan is crazy. Or, well, maybe Ivan is just a really weird guy. Matthew doesn't really know.

***

At the beginning of the season, at their second time, Berwald announces that he won't be coming back after their next game. He's really sorry but he needs to concentrate on other things in his life. He needs to move on. Or, well, at least that what everyone thinks he says, no one can really tell since Tino is out getting water for Berwald and Tino is kind of like their Berwald-Translator since he seems to be the only one that can decode that weird language that Arthur calls "Berwald Babble".

Either way, the one thing everyone can gather from Berwald's little speech is that he's not coming back. Everyone is pretty sure that Mathias is going to cry. And throw a giant tantrum. He doesn't.

But Ludwig excuses himself from the locker room with a small sniffle.

"What a pussy." Gilbert mutters, rolls his eyes, and goes out after his brother.

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**Notes: Hopefully, you guys are having as much fun reading these as I am writing them! Thanks for reading and leave a review, please and thank you! Have a nice day/night!**


	3. Skate To The Face

**Notes: Hello, hello, hello! Thanks so much for all the reviews! Like I said before, and if I didn't say it before it must have slipped my mind, Iceland is in this chapter, seen here as Larsun. Thanks so much for reading! Happy reading!**

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Mathias is probably one of the coolest people on the team, Alfred decides. And it's easy to see because Mathias is made of win. And that's easy to prove because, one time after practice, Alfred asked him for a piggyback ride and he gave him one. Like, without complaining or anything! Apparently though, Matthew's thoughts on Mathias are a little different.

Mathias has crazy eating habits that are almost as weird as Alfred's. Every time Matthew sees Mathias, in school, at practice, the guy is always shoveling butter cookies into his mouth at a completely implausible speed that pretty much rivals the speed of light. It's pretty weird, actually.

That and Mathias and Alfred only get along because they're pretty much the same person in two separate bodies. They're both loud and obnoxious and they both eat enough in the span of a day to feed several impoverished developing countries for about half a year. They're both also pretty crappy at keeping secrets.

The only other thing Matthew knows about Mathias is that he has a boyfriend named Espen. And the only reason the team knows that is because Mathias. Never. Stops. Talking about him. Seriously, that's all Mathias talks about half the time. The other half of the time, he's preoccupied with shoving butter cookies into his mouth. That and Espen, for all the blunt put-downs and insults he doesn't bother to cover up, has yet to miss a game. He sits, every time, in the middle column of the bleachers, in the middle row, at the end. It's cute and sweet. Kind of.

As much as Mathias is disagreeable to Matthew, he figures they only keep him around because he's the best at body checks.

Matthew just really wants to know where the heck he gets all those butter cookies.

***

The Whitecats have two goalies: Larsun and Roderich.

There's something kind of creepy about Larsun, though. He's quiet and graceful. Like, creepily graceful on the ice. It almost doesn't make sense how well Larsun skates and blocks. Gilbert is convinced that the kid doesn't even blink. No. _No_, it's _really_ creepy. People don't think it is but Gilbert is convinced the kid is just a crazed serial killer that doesn't blink. He's probably on the run for cannibalizing small babies. Or something. It doesn't change the fact that he doesn't blink. Ever.

Roderich on the other hand is very proper and has the emotional range of a retarded orange blossom. It's also weird because he is kind-of-sort-of-not-really-but-yeah dating their other centre, Vash.

But one day, Roderich asks Vash to maybe tone it down just a tad, please and thank you. Vash doesn't talk to him for the rest of the week.

Vash also punches out one of the refs that week.

***

At Berwald's final game, everything is going pretty well. Until he gets checked into the glass. Hard. And the crowd goes absolutely silent as Berwald just sort of crumples to the ground, stick skittering away on the ice. The player from the other team just keeps chasing the puck like he didn't just check a giant Swedish guy into a wall.

The crowd is still quiet as a corpse and that's when Tino takes the head off of his mascot costume. He's a bit flushed because it's really hot in that suit and his bangs are stuck to his forehead with sweat. And the look on Tino's face is pretty heartbreaking as he watches his boyfriend-future-fiancé get smashed into the wall.

Coach Kirkland's face is pinched: looking sort of like he just at a lemon or something sour. Or he just heard one of Alfred's ideas. Tino throws the Shinatty head to Katya and sort of scrambles onto the ice. The next thing the entire stadium is seeing, is this blond guy just charging toward the guy that checked Berwald. Technically, it's more of a high-speed waddle, but whatever. Tino looks at Berwald and then, like some crazy fuck, jumps on the guy that checked Berwald and knocks the poor guy's helmet off. Tino starts beating the back of this guy's head and he's screaming curse words in English and switching into Finnish. He's smashing the heel of his hand into this poor guy's head and shouting like a nut. He wrestles the guy to the ground, punching him when they get down to the ice.

Ludwig and Mathias are both trying to wrestle this tiny, screaming Finn off and Mathias manages to get an arm looped around Tino's waist. Tino kicks the other guy squarely in the chin, still cursing and pretty much bright red with. White. Boy. _Rage._

"Perkele! I'll fuck your mother up, you son of a whore! Motherfucker! I'm going to rip out your throat with my fucking teeth! I'm going to eat your heart at a _luncheon_! You hear me? At a fucking luncheon! Fucking—fucker, motherfucking put me down! Fucking perkele! Perkele! I'm going to fucking kill you _and_ your dog!" Tino continues to scream as Mathias and Ludwig manhandle him off the court. Tino somehow manages to grab Ludwig's helmet and throws it at the other guy's head, hitting him on the side of his head. Hard.

They finally. Finally. Manage to get Tino off the ice. The stadium is still really quiet and then a slow clap starts up. It's pretty epic, actually.

Yeah, Tino is pretty much the coolest guy on the team now. He also has awesome aim. And everyone's wondering why he isn't one of their centres or something. If anyone could be awesome at it, it's Tino. Coach Kirkland nicknames Tino the White Death. Because he's Finnish. And the mascot costume is white.

It just seems like the only logical step.

***

Raivis Galante, this cute little blond Freshman takes over as centre after Berwald leaves the team. He's the only player on the team who is pretty. Like, girl pretty. So, naturally, most of the team teases him and makes fun of him. They respect his playing skills though because he's pretty good. You know, for a Freshman and everything.

Raivis is always getting asked which girls' team he plays for by the guys from other teams, who wolf-whistle and cat-call and make weird hand gestures that Mathias doesn't get because he's got the intelligence of a bag of rocks. Raivis, who is cute and adorable and looks like he couldn't hurt a damn fly much less a person, has enough after some douchebag from another team makes fun of him and calls him 'Miss Cutie'.

Most people on the team, especially Ivan, are used to seeing a teary-eyed Raivis, shaking and sobbing, running off somewhere. But this time, Raivis flushes and just looks at the other guy. He shakes his head and skates over to the bathroom. Doesn't even say a word. At. All.

"Next person who asks me if I play for the girls' team is going to regret it." Raivis says, not a touch of stutter or anxiety to his words. Kid must be taking Prozac or something like that.

"Why?" Matthew asks, lacing up his skates for the beginning of the game.

"Because they're getting a skate to the face." Raivis says plainly. Apparently, that's the sexiest thing that Ivan has ever heard because he plays the majority of the game with a giant boner in his uniform pants.

_Awkward_.

***

"Hey, Ref, are you fucking blind? That guy deserves to be in the penalty box! That's called high-sticking, right there! Hey fuckstick, get the cock out of your eye socket and call some fucking penalties for once in your life! Why did I come to the fucking game if I already knew who was going to win?" Eduard Von Boch shouts from the bleachers. Raivis gets a little distracted by his brother insulting the refs and he totally misses Ludwig's pass.

Matthew knows Eduard, actually. He's in his Advanced Placement Chemistry class and Eduard is really, really smart. And Eduard is shy and quiet but set him near a hockey game? The guy goes crazy. Hockey just seems to do that to a lot of people.

Before Eduard, Matthew had no idea that fans could get kicked out of games.

***

Ivan Braginski is this giant Russian tank that plays defense best with Matthew. And, sure, Matthew might think that Ivan is unhinged and completely psychotic and out of touch with reality but they work well together. They don't do as well separately as they do together. They're a pretty deadly combination because Ivan checks like crazy and Matthew is just apt at knocking the puck right out from under your nose. They're not Ivan and Matthew when they play as much as they are Ivan-and-Matthew.

Alfred still pretty much hates Ivan, though. And any chance he gets to ask his brother why he plays so well with the Commie, Matthew just starts rambling about the order of universe and some crap about the rotation of the earth, and something about the moon and the sun being on the same level of dimensional harmony. Or something like that. Alfred stops paying attention halfway through the explanation and instead starts staring at Coach Kirkland.

Alfred wonders if there's some way he can genetically engineer some sort of man-womb made out of cotton or something. Maybe that stretchy stuff that girls' stockings are made of. Yeah, that could work. He really, really, really wants to have Coach Kirkland's babies.

***

Alfred has this theory that Ludwig and Gilbert have a kinky, torrid, German love affair.

They win their first match of the play-off tournament because Ludwig makes the final goal. And he looks more surprised than anyone else on the ice. On the sidelines Coach Kirkland and the Whitecats fans? Well, for their part they pretty much go. Bat. Shit. Insane. Especially Gilbert, who's screaming things in German and practically frothing at the mouth. Gilbert's either flushed because he's proud as hell or he's just really turned on from watching his _kleiner Bruder _nearly knock out someone's teeth. Knowing Gilbert, it's probably the second one. Bloody mouths just turn him on. Or maybe it's just blood in general.

Either way, the Whitecats win 7-0 and that's probably one of their best games this entire season. So, they do what every other totally victorious sports team does to celebrate. They go out for dinner at some random Sports Bar that's too smoky and will bother Raivis' asthma but he'll suck it up and not complain because he doesn't want any one Ivan's freaky. Psycho. Attention. At all.

So, they're all pretty much ready to leave except suddenly, Roderich remembers that he's left his bag in the locker room. So, he excuses himself to go get it. And because they're a team, and teams stick together, everyone else decides to go with him, just in case he needs backup to find his bag. Or something. Never mind the fact that nobody's bothered to notice that Ludwig and Gilbert are missing except Matthew. Matthew notices everything because he's pretty much just background noise himself, anyway. And Matthew just feels that this somehow isn't going to end well.

What happens next is sort of bizarre and just way too weird in so many painful ways. And it's just seven individual shades of awkward.

The entire team, the. Entire. Fucking. Team walks into the locker room and catches an eyeful of their left wing forward who's got something crammed down his brother's throat. No one says anything, not even Alfred or Mathias who never shut up. Everything stops. And everything goes quiet. And then. It happens.

Ludwig finally notices that the rest of the team is standing right. Freaking. There. And he reacts pretty violently in an embarrassed way. He pretty much punches his brother in the face to get him away so that Ludwig can cover himself up. You know, to save what little dignity he still has after the entire team and his coach have just seen his junk. Gilbert's making this weird noise because his. Nose. Just. Got. Broken. The poor guy just sort of falls to the ground and cracks his head on the tile with a loud 'crack' that sort of echoes around the room. And as if _that's_ not enough, Ludwig turns brown, which is what happens when you try to turn green and purple at the same time. He just wants the floor to swallow him up. This is so, so terrible. And so, so embarrassing.

The team turns away, shouts of "Seriously?" and "Holy. Fucking. Fuck!" and "My eyes!" echo throughout the locker room and, by this time, the only one who's still staring at the two Germans is Alfred and he's pointing frantically at them, giant cup of Seriously Rockin' Shockin' Blue Raspberry slurpie on the floor. No one notices that the blue toxic waste is edging into Gilbert's hair and dying it bright blue pretty effectively. Alfred points and points. And points. And, just like a little kid, says,

"I. KNEW. IT. I freaking knew it!" And then Kirkland grabs him by the sleeve and drags him out of the bathroom, yelling and cursing the entire time.

Nobody really knows what to do with Gilbert, since he has a concussion, his nose is broken and a decent sized chunk of his hair is now dyed Seriously Rockin' Shockin' Blue. He gets up, one of his pupils looking blown out and glares at his little brother like he's going to bite his neck and rip out his throat. With his teeth.

"I'm going to kick your fucking teeth out." Gilbert slurs to his brother on the bus as he holds a ice pack to his head and does his best to ignore the childish band-aid on his nose. It has Big Bird on it. If he's going to have a broken nose, he's going to be as awesome as he can with it. Definition of awesome? A fucking Big Bird Band-aid.

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**Notes: Leave me a review maybe? Thanks for reading! Have a good day/night!**


	4. Welcome to Katyaland, Robot Douche

**Notes: Oh my gosh, sorry for the long wait! Hope you enjoy! Happy reading.**

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Vash is the team's other centre aside from Raivis. Coach Kirkland says he could probably be the best centre in Whitecats history if he could just stay out of the penalty box for more than five farking minutes at a time. He is pretty much the best centre on the team because he's got a lot of pent-up angry energy and he apparently knows how to use it to check people _out of his fucking way_.

The only bad thing? Yeah, Vash has this pretty wicked temper. Seriously, it's crazy the way Vash threatens to shoot people in the face. Or foot. Or whatever. And usually there's not really a good reason for it. It's the intimidation tactic that the team really cares about. It helps most of the time. Either way, Vash skates faster than anyone in the whole history of hockey. Maybe even Ever. Okay, maybe not. But, hey, he's still pretty damned close.

Other than the fact that Vash kicks ass at being a centre, he totally doesn't even feel bad about heckling the other teams' players. Refs and Coaches have also fallen victim to Vash's loose-canon insults. Plus, he doesn't ever feel bad about being an ass at away games because, seriously? The refs are super biased anyway. So, Vash heckles and yells and calls out every single player and then calls them everything he can think of.

It gets pretty intense during one game where Roderich somehow manages to get knocked down. And, really? Whose idea was it to knock down _Roderich_? As in Roderich, Vash's sort-of-not-really-but-yeah boyfriend? Yeah, him. He gets knocked down and Vash looks like he could bite the head off of a kitten. And eat it.

So, the next thing Vash does pretty much cements him in Whitecats Badass History. He hits the puck so hard it travels at about thirty miles per hour through the air. And hit's the other team's centre. Right in the middle of. His. Chest.

And everyone pretty much sees it happening in slow motion. The impact against the poor guy's chest is probably enough to leave a bruise. Or break his clavicle. No one really knows for sure but it's definitely one of the two. The other thing everyone is pretty sure about is that if Alfred ever decided to make their team career into an _awesome_ movie or something, that would definitely be the slow-mo scene.

Katya has a really bad habit of doing stupid and totally bizarre stuff when she's upset. Or anxious. Which is pretty much all the time but. Whatever. Seriously, last time she was upset, she chopped off all her hair. Yeah, seriously. She wasn't even _that_ upset.

Today she's upset and a little nervous because. Okay, she's had a crush on Matthew since the first game and she really, really likes him but. There's that thing in the way. That Ivan-Alfred-Maim-Dismember-Conquer-Kill thing in the way of her even _thinking_ about anything else other than maybe getting Ivan some sort of help, maybe even mental counseling. Yeah, it's _that_ bad. And, as if _that _wasn't bad enough, Matthew just happens to be the brother of Alfred, who Ivan just happens to want to hurt, which includes but is not limited to maiming, dismembering, conquering, and killing. She really doesn't want to upset Ivan with the final match of the tournament coming up. But. She really likes Matthew. She likes him a lot. And she needs to tell someone or she'll become a neurotic mess. She needs to tell Ivan. Or she'll explode.

Today's bizarre, stupid activity? Yeah, she's comfort shopping. For groceries. And she's got Ivan with her because she figures that he can't hurt her in a public place. He might damage some canned goods, though. They're standing in front of a canned food pyramid. Ivan is standing (lurking) next to her. One of the lights above them is flickering and Katya swears it stops when Ivan smiles up at it in that endearing empty way he has.

Drain-O. Katya needs to buy Drain-O. There's a huge chunk of Ivan's hair clogging the faucet in one of the bathroom sinks. It's been lodged in there since Last Tuesday when Ivan found a huge clot of his own hair, which included but wasn't limited to his chest hair, some hair from his head, some shaved-off facial hair and a chunk of hair that had been shaved off from somewhere that was. Definitely. _Not_. His. Face under Natalia's pillow and tied together with one of her ribbons. He tried to get rid of it by shoving it into the sink's faucet pipe.

Natalia? Well, she's very bizarre and confusing to most people, Ivan and Katya included. Seriously, Natalia is just so violent and weird that it's pretty amazing that she's managed to avoid being arrested for aggressive stalking.

Either way, Katya needs to buy Drain-O. And pickles. They also might need some cabbage. Katya doesn't really remember. Ivan looks (creepily stares) at her. Katya knows that he knows something is not quite right in Katyaland. It's odd how perceptive he is. Seriously, it can be spooky as hell sometimes.

Tilting his head to the side and looking crazy as fuck, Ivan asks, "What is wrong, sister?"

Katya knows she cannot lie to her brother. It would not be nice. He can also smell lies but that is beside the point.

"I believe, Vanya, th-that I may like Matthew." Katya responds (stammers).

Ivan just stares. And stares. And. Stares. And then? Then after that, Ivan smiles and Katya just knows he's picturing Alfred being impaled on a stick. Or being shot in the face. Or something just as terrible and painful as being shot in the face or impaled on a stick.

"This is good. I am glad that you have confided in me. You will speak with him about this, yes?" Ivan asks but sort of actually states, "and then I will speak with him." Katya isn't quite sure if that odd shadow around her brother's upper face has always been there. She thinks it hasn't but. Well. She's not quite sure.

She doesn't quite know what possesses her to say what she says next but she does it anyway, "Thank you, Vanya, for understanding."

A little ways down the aisle, some guy from the team they're playing on Friday slips. And sprains his wrist. Katya thinks it might have something to do with the way Ivan is creepily smiling and mumbling something to himself. She also figures it might be because of the puddle of pickle juice that was definitely not there before.

It's Tuesday. Their final game of the tournament is on Friday evening. But that's not important. Actually, it is probably _the_ most important thing that has happened to Matthew ever. _Ever_. No, seriously, it's pretty important. But. Okay. It's Tuesday. And their final match is on Friday. Which is definitely _not_ Tuesday.

Whatever.

It's Tuesday and right now Matthew is doing his homework. Yeah, which is a huge, behemoth, monstrous pile. Alfred is sitting with him in their basement because. Well. Dad is upstairs romancing Mr. Carriedo. Which is so. Totally. Gross. Alfred is doing his own homework. Okay, yeah, Alfred finished his homework _ages_ ago and is now sitting on the couch, flipping through some teenybopper magazine and stuffing food into his face.

Seriously? Matthew is so close to being over this stupid Pre Calc assignment. He has been staring at the same stupid problem for about fifteen minutes, waiting for it to solve itself. It's definitely not solving itself any time soon. Whatever. Matthew gives up and starts packing his stuff into his backpack. He cannot think about school or numbers or square roots right now because there is a really annoying incessant buzzing going on in his ears. It actually sounds a bit like this:

_friday_.

Yeah, it sounds just like that.

Eventually, after Matthew has put his stuff in his backpack and forced his brother to relinquish a tiny space on the couch so he can sit down, Matthew asks, "Al. Uhm, are you nervous about something?"

Alfred looks up, radioactive bright orange cheese dust around his mouth and on his fingers and there's a bit on his glasses. And cocks his head to the side. Yeah, that makes Alfred look like a retarded puppy. Or something to that effect.

"Nah." Alfred nearly shouts, popping his neon orange fingertips into his mouth, "why are you saying that? What would make you say that? I'm not nervous!"

Alfred always. Always. Shouts when he's nervous. _Always._

"Because. While I did my homework, you ate three bags of one-hundred calorie Cheez Crackers, two ice cream sandwiches, a bag of Funions, a bag of skittles, and a small order of fries. Now you're eating some sort of. . . Cheesy saw dust byproduct."

"Okay, fine! You freakin' caught me. But if I tell you, you can't laugh."

Because Matthew is a good brother, no matter how annoyed he gets with Alfred, he nods. Seriously, as much as Alfred can be total jerk, Matthew still feels that he can be the better person just by being the better brother. As in, not making fun of his sibling whenever he reveals extremely personal information. Because, seriously? Matthew never made fun of the fact that Alfred didn't stop sucking his thumb until he was fourteen. Yeah, he's serious about that one.

"Cross my heart." Matthew says and sits down next to his brother on the ugly brown couch. When is Dad going to get a new one because. Really? This couch is really, really. _Really_ ugly. Like the kind of ugly that could kill kittens. Or something.

"I'm working on a top-secret plan to seduce Mr. K." Alfred says. And Matt? Well, he doesn't laugh which he supposes is a good thing but. Seriously? Mr. K? This is why Matthew keeps Alfred away from everything he considers sacred. Like moose. And macaroni and cheese—although for some reason Alfred gets into that no matter what Matthew does. This is why Matthew shouldn't have taken Alfred to any of his practices or his games. Alfred can _not _be in love with Coach Kirkland. It's. Just. Okay, it's just._ Weird_. Seriously, Mr. Kirkland is twice. His. Brother's Age. _Twice_. But—well. Matthew should have figured that this would have happened because Alfred? Yeah, Alfred is the reason that Matthew can't have nice things; Alfred will ruin them. God, it's not like he owns Coach Kirkland or anything but. Seriously?

Okay. For the first time Matthew felt like he was in the spotlight and. And. And. Okay. What does this even have to do with anything? If anything, he's not being the better brother and being the better person by being jealous. Yeah, okay it's natural and everything. No, seriously, it's natural because if _you_ had to grow up with being pretty much invisible it would pretty much seem like a huge deal whenever you were getting some attention. But, whatever. Alfred sort of needs him right now. And even if Alfred is kind of a jerk, Matthew is still the better person. So, because he's the better brother-slash-person Matthew says,

"Oh. That's cool, eh. Why do you like him? You know he's a lot older than you right?"

Alfred makes a noise like a dying whale.

"I don't even know why I like him! He's got really, really, _really _bad teeth. Like, really bad! And. God, Mattie. He drinks tea."

"Again, Al. Why do you like him?" Matthew says and he can just picture his head on Molly Ringwald's body on the _Sixteen Candles_ poster.

"I don't know! He's like he's some sort of robot and he's angry all the time. It's probably because he eats those rocks all the time—"

"Those are scones, Al," Gosh, it's kind of disconcerting how dumb his brother is sometimes. Although, Matthew can sort of see where Alfred got the idea that those were rocks. He's had one. It was sort of like. You know. Eating a rock.

"Right, scones. Whatever. Look, he's just angry. All. The Time. And. I don't know why I like him. It's probably his hair cut. That's the hair cut that all ugly British guys have, Matt. He's like Hugh Grant or something! I freaking _hate_ Hugh Grant." Alfred says, tearing at his hair.

"He did really good in _Nine Months_ though. Or whatever that movie was called."

"Whatever. Matthew."

"Yes?"

"I've fallen in love with a British Robot Douche."

"Yeah, well. I guess we're sort of in the same boat. Because I've fallen in love with the little sister of the KGB's best agent." Matthew say, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. His brother really knows how to give him a headache because. Seriously? His temples are just suddenly throbbing. Throbbing.

"Matt! Oh my god, why do you always have to make every single conversation about you? Seriously, Matt? Seriously? Oh my freakin'— you know what? Whatever. You're so selfish." And with that Alfred gets up and trudges up the stairs. Matthew just stares after him.

Okay, _really? _Not to be mean or anything but. Okay, Matthew really wants to kill Alfred sometimes. He just really wants to just. Just. Smother him with a pillow or something.

**

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Notes: Hope you enjoyed! There should be one more chapter left after this one unless I can get myself to write more. We'll see what's up. Anyway, thank you for reading! Leave a review?


	5. The Game, Baby

Notes: Hey, man. I'm sorry this took so long to get written and then posted. And I'm sorry if it seems totally fragmented and disjointed. I sort of wrote this in like a million different sittings because I'm a lazy fuck. Anyway, here it is! The last chapter! I really hope you've enjoyed the ride as much as I have! Thanks so much to all of you for reading!

* * *

Alfred is a man. Well, not totally but he's getting there, okay? Yeah, but if you ask Alfred, he's definitely fully-functioning and totally capable of being independent. Or whatever. He's pretty much a man. Matthew doesn't agree because Alfred isn't a man; he's definitely more like a man-child. Like that weird uncle every family has that never really grew up. But Matthew is dumb and doesn't know anything. Alfred _is_ a man. _And_ he's got a plan. And it is the _best_ plan ever. No, seriously. _Ever._ Of all time. Of. All. Time.

Alfred's plan is simple. And it has a budget of fifteen dollars. And it involves the most important staple food ever. Oh–and a plastic spoon but like that's important, right? Seriously, the world would not be able to function without it, so. Yeah. Alfred's staple food? Peanut butter. Yeah, it's going to be pretty _boss_. Either way, Alfred is not spending more than fifteen dollars on this plan because he won't be able to eat for the rest of the week. And that would really suck. No. Seriously, it would suck.

It might be the Best Plan Ever but. There's a little bit of a kink that Alfred has ignored. Alfred has everything planned out perfectly except this one little issue. The issue? Alfred just has to buckle down and figure out if Arthur is into younger guys. Alfred also kind of has to figure out what the hell Arthur is saying because his accent is really hard to understand sometimes.

Okay, it's a little weird that Alfred is calling his coach 'Arthur' because Matthew just knows him by 'Coach' or 'Kirkland'. And everything else aside and completely ignoring the fact that this entire plan has huge potential to get _super._ Creepy. _Super. _Fast, Matthew kind of forgot that Alfred could be so determined when he wasn't being lazy and playing stupid. Actually, Matthew doesn't know if Alfred plays stupid. Or. If he is _that_ dumb. Matthew figures it's a fifty-fifty chance of his brother either being a genius or being a raging. Dumb. Fuck.

Either way, Alfred being all determined and mildly psychotic is kind of cute. If, you know, Alfred wasn't his brother. Or whatever. Because, uhm. It would be weird if Matthew called Alfred cute. Since. It's his brother. Yeah, Matthew needs to stop thinking about this. Right. Now.

Alfred's crazy determination totally aside, Matthew just knows that this is going to go very. Very. Wrong. Matthew just has a sixth sense for these kind of things. And what's his sixth sense saying now? That this can only end really, really badly. Really. Badly. Matthew understands that, in theory, The Plan is a really, really good one. Because, really, what's not to like about being seduced watching some crazy kid lick peanut butter off a spoon? But, let's face it, Alfred is not exactly the smartest guy in the world. He's not the sharpest crayon in the box. Or the brightest bulb in the tanning bed. Or—Okay, Matthew hopes he's getting his point across. To who, he has. No. Idea. He just hopes he's getting it across. Either way, this is just not going to work. Luck is against Alfred. But, seriously? When has that ever stopped Al?

Matthew just worries—and worries, and worried, and worries because he's a born worrier that Kirkland will just reject Alfred and totally tear him apart. Or something. And Matthew will have to pick up Alfred, piece by piece. And Matthew. Does. Not. Have. _Time._ For. That. Because their game is on _Friday. _

Plus, Matthew is pretty sure that if Kirkland hurts Alfred, Matthew is pretty much obligated to punch his hockey coach in the wiener. Which'll be really, really _weird._

* * *

Matthew's head feels like it's going to explode. It's this huge pressue right behind his eyes and his temples are. Freaking. Throbbing. He knows it's from staying up too late to study for that stupid AP Chemistry test but, seriously? When the hell is he ever going to use Chemistry? He's not planning on. You know, doing something with Chemistry for the rest of his life.

Either way, he makes his way down to the Nurse's Office and goes to sleep because. Okay, it just seems like that would get rid of it. If lack of sleep got him into this, getting some sleep might take him out. Might.

Matthew figures he hasn't been asleep for fifteen minutes when there's some eerie noise. Oh, god. Seriously? He can't be _dealing_ with this right now. He's got a headache the size of New Zealand. _New. Zealand_. Or some equally odd country.

Actually, you know, Matthew can't be dealing with a lot of stuff right now. But he seriously can't be dealing with psychopathic serial killers who want to feast on the ripe and nubile flesh of teenaged hockey players who have their final matches two days. Wow, did he really just think all that? Yeah, he's been hanging out with Alfred _**way**_ too much lately. Either way, there's something in the Nurse's office and it probably wants to kill Matthew. Or worse. Break both his legs so that he can't play on Friday.

Matthew looks around and. Oh. My God. Where is that creepy creaking noise coming from? And why is the light flickering like that? He doesn't know why but it's really starting to creep him out andwhy is his ear suddenly so hot?

"Matvey."

Matthew does not scream. Mainly because whatever just came out of his mouth was way too high-pitched to be considered a scream. Matthew thinks it might have been a squeal. Or a whimper. Either one of them is pretty much an apt description for the noise he just made. It doesn't change the fact that he still has a headache and _Ivan _is standing next to him, smiling widely. Matthew doesn't really know why but his stomach drops and his palms break out into a cold sweat. Probably because Ivan is a psychopath. Or something like that.

"Ivan?"

"Yes, yes, hello. Now, let us speak. You know I like you, yes?" Ivan asks, looking at a bottle of witch-hazel astringent. He's probably wondering if he can drink it. Or something. It's fourteen percent alcohol so it's not all that far-fetched, actually. Matthew figures it actually wouldn't be that different from drinking vodka. Not that Matthew would know.

"Uhm. Yeah?"

"Yes, well, I am not the only one in my family that happens to like you." Ivan says, smiling widely. Matthew really wishes he would stop smiling. It's really, really creepy. And then what Ivan says sort of sinks in.

Matthew gulps because. Really? He's heard all about Natalia. He really hopes she's not the other person that Ivan is talking about because that would just be really, really horrible. No. That would be worse than horrible. Matthew doesn't even know what that would be. It would just be worse than terrible.

"Uh, oh yeah? Well that's. . . that's really nice, Ivan." Matthew says, looking around the room. He wonders how long it would take him to jump out the window and if Ivan could catch up with him. He decides it's probably more dangerous to run. Yeah, that seems a little more dangerous.

"Yes, it is nice, Matvey. But you do not get my drift, so to speak. I like you as my friend. You are loyal, unlike your brother. You play well. And I think the faces you make when you are scared are very, very cute.

"Uhm, thanks, Ivan. I guess I am pretty cute." Matthew says. Ivan's smiles even wider now and Matthew isn't getting a good feeling about this at all.

"You are cute, yes. But you are also a little dumb, Matvey. You do not understand what I am saying to you. Katya does like you, yes. But not as a friend. She thinks you are very nice and sweet. She thinks the faces you make when you are scared are very, very cute as well. Actually, she thinks all the faces you make are very cute. I must agree with her." Ivan continues to prattle on about whatever he's talking about because Matthew has managed to zero in on what's happening.

Dude. Katya likes him. Katya. Likes. Him? Is this real? Like, what was going on? Is this actually happening? No. Really. What?

"Wait. Katya? What?" Matthew says feeling like the stupidest genius on the planet. Actually, ever in history.

"Matthew, she has romantic feelings toward you. Now, I give you permission to court my sister. But if you hurt her…" Ivan says and tilts his head. Matthew gulps because. Really? What else can he do in this situation? This is Ivan. As in Ivan Braginski. As in Ivan "Hi, I'm a Giant Russian and I'm going to smash your brains out onto the sidewalk with my boot, my faucet pipe, a sickle, and a hammer. Hope you were having a nice day." Braginski. Yeah.

"Uh, y-yeah. No. I definitely get it. I really like your sister, too. I mean, I've actually liked her for a pretty long time now. And. Uhm. Yeah, no, I could never hurt her." Matthew manages to squeeze out passed the lump in his throat. He doesn't really know it that lump is from him being two-point-five seconds from pissing his pants out of fright or from being to freaking happy he's about to spontaneously burst into song because, for once, _something_ in his life is going totally. Right. And seriously? How often does that freaking happy? Not a lot.

"I will hold you to your promise, friend. But I wish to remind you that my wrath should not be incurred. For you see, I am far more deadly than Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov is. This is mainly because I have the tenacity to actually carry out what I start but. Matvey, I digress. Anyway, yes, yes, you may court my sister just remember that you shouldn't hurt her. Or you will be the one hurting. Yes?" Matthew is pretty sure that he can see the way Ivan's mind switches gears. It's totally unsettling and Matthew isn't afraid to admit he might be a little scared.

"Uh. Uhm. Yes?"

"I'm glad you understand." Ivan mumbles.

And then as quickly as he shows up, Ivan is gone. Funny thing is the light finally stopped flickering. Matthew is officially creeped out but he's also pretty ecstatic.

He now has permission to court Katya. Even though he has permission, he's actually. Uhm. Not too sure on what to do exactly. He figures that he'll figure it out along the way.

* * *

Ever since Eduard got kicked out of a few too many games, the only way they'll even _think_ of letting him in is if he says he's with the team. So, Kirkland buys him this cute little first-aid kit. It even has gauze in it! It's like. A really legit first-aid kit. So, Eduard sort of plays nurse for the Whitecats now.

Except now. He gets a front row seat to their practices and their games and that just goes downhill from there. He gets even crazier when he "cheers" on the team with crazy insults. Yeah. No. It's actually kind of frightening.

After their second-to-last practice, Ivan is sitting on the bench watching Raivis skate around in circles while Eduard pokes at his wrist. Ivan fell at practice and Kirkland isn't taking. Any. Chances. Today. If that's a sprained wrist, he might actually have to kill himself. No, maybe not kill himself. But. You know. Something close to that. Like actually cooking dinner for himself. Which actually might result in death. Either way. Someone is dying. Tonight.

"I think your little brother is very cute." Ivan says. And the look on his face is pretty much a Giant Creep Grin.

"I think your wrist is sprained." Eduard replies tersely and squeezes the Russian's wrist with a lot more ferocity than is necessary. And the look on _his_ face is pretty much a Fuck the Fuck Off, Buddy Grin.

"Ouch." Ivan mumbles. There's a little pop from his wrist and. Yeah. That's not. That's not good. That's definitely not good. At all.

And just like that Ivan Braginski has fallen in love.

* * *

At their last practice of the season, Alfred decides to implement The Plan. And it goes really. Really. _Really_. Badly.

Alfred stands right by the glass. Right. By. The. Glass. Practically giving head. To a plastic spoon covered in peanut butter. He's moaning and doing that stereotypical porno starlet thing of making totally fake little whimper noises. The weird thing about it? Everyone on the team is paying attention to Alfred. Except Arthur. No, really. And Alfred? He hasn't noticed that Arthur hasn't noticed him. And that shit goes on for the better part of an hour and a half of their two hour practice.

It's. Really. Awkward.

What's even more awkward is that Matthew is really sure that Alfred has been keeping secrets from him. Because. Seriously? There's no way that his brother is licking a spoon like without having moonlighted in the porn industry. No. Really. It's a little disturbing.

Needless to say, in the end, Mathias and Ludwig both end up skating into the glass. And, of course, Kirkland bitches at them and pretty much tears them a new asshole. It gets pretty awkward. No, really. It's really awkward.

* * *

Lately, Mathias has taken to singing while toweling off after practices. Yeah, seriously. It's not that Mathias has a bad voice or anything. His voice is actually pretty good, actually. Which is weird. It's just that. Okay, Mathias is loud. Really. _Loud_. Today, though, he's halfway through a pretty decent rendition of "My Humps" with the team's running commentary keeping everybody pretty entertained. Yeah, their practice went really good today so their outlook for the final match on Friday is amazing. You know, unless everything falls apart at the last moment which would suck. So. Hard.

"My lovely lady lumps, in the back and in the front." Mathias belts out, pretending to grope the breasts he doesn't have. He continues to shimmy around the locker room, deciding against the common convention known as pants. And it's getting pretty awkward. Really, really. Really. Awkward.

"Ah, yes, this lyric would be very nicely suited for Ludwig, yes? With his cowsies, yes?" Ivan says, toweling off his hair and smiling widely. It's that weird smile where no one really knows if he's really smiling or not.

"What?" Ludwig says, forehead wrinkled in confusion. He's putting on his super tight black shirt. Yeah, he's definitely Hitler's Youth material.

Matthew is still wondering why half the guys in the locker room are pretty much half naked. The only one who isn't in here is Raivis because he's talking with Kirkland about offensive play tactics.

"Oh! Ivan you mean 'moobs', right? You know, like man boobies? Not 'cowsies'." Mathias corrects, still dancing around and trying to convince Larsun to sing with him now. It's not working. Actually, Mathias' dancing could definitely come in useful as a diversion tactic.

"Yes, yes, 'moobies'! Ludwig, you are nearly as well-developed as my sister. I wish you the best of luck with finding a brassiere that will comfortably fit your moobies!" Ivan says, still toweling off.

In a million years, Matthew never would have thought that being surrounded by a bunch of guys in top physical condition walking and dancing around in their boxers, briefs, and boxer-briefs would be so awkward. Actually, no, he's lying. He's known it would be awkward. He just never thought it would actually happen.

"Ha-_ha_." Ludwig responds dryly and glares.

Why is _nobody_ in this locker room. Wearing. _Pants_?

"If you touch it, I'm-uh start some drama, you don't want no drama. No, no drama, no, no, no dram—HOLY _FUCK_!" And then. Mathias is screaming. He's standing up on the bench and pointing at the floor. And screaming. Really. Loudly.

Everyone turns around and. Oh. _God_. There it is. Right. On. The. _Floor_. It's a cockroach. A. _Cockroach_. And it's crawling around and twitching it's little antennae things. Oh. _God_.

And then. It happens. Just like with Ludwig and Gilbert, it happens. The locker room goes totally silent. And then. It. _Explodes_. Everyone is shrieking, scrambling up onto the bench in a desperate bid to get away from the cockroach. Oh, god. Ew. Matthew knew that his school was kind of bad in the hygienic department but. Seriously?

Oh. God. It's _moving_. Toward. Them.

It must look a little weird to Kirkland and Raivis when they run in to the locker room to see what's going on: there's six almost-adult men crowded together on a bench and pointing at a floor, all in their underwear and screaming. Yeah, no. It's not funny. At all. At. All.

"What is going on in he—Oh, _rot_!" Kirkland says when he sees the cockroach on the wall. He takes a step back, looking as freaked out as everyone else.

"Somebody kill it!" Mathias says, struggling to keep from falling off the bench.

"Somebody _shoot _it!" Vash corrects, looking panicked and possibly homicidal.

Raivis looks at the team. And then looks at the cockroach. He shakes his head and reaches for one of Ivan's skates.

"Nyet! Don't use my skate!" Ivan shrieks. He loves those skates a lot. They have white laces. With sunflowers on them.

"Seriously, you guys?" Raivis asks them over their shrieking. Roderich looks like he's going to be sick in a second.

"_Kill. It!" _Larsun wails. And this is the most emoting anyone has ever seen him do. Even Mathias who's dating his brother.

Raivis takes off his shoe and smashes it down on the cockroach, killing it with a sickening little 'pop' noise.

The team climbs down from the bench. They look like they've pretty much seen death. And lived. Other than Ludwig. He just looks like he's going to break down and cry at any moment. Then again, Ludwig has always been a little obsessed with keeping things clean. It actually seems a little unhealthy.

Raivis is officially the biggest badass ever.

* * *

This is it. This is what Matthew has been waiting for all season. No, really. This might actually be the most defining moment of his entire life. Although, actually, it's not really that great. They're playing this team whose centre is this giant Korean guy who's got the energy of Mathias and the hitting power of Ludwig. And Ivan. _Combined. _

This kid skates like Vash. Which is crazy fast. And he's all nimble and shit. And Matthew has no idea how the hell this kid is flying across the ice like that but he's pretty sure that anyone with _that_ kind of skill has to have had. Like. Sold their soul to the devil or something. It's not like Raivis even has a chance at this point in time.

But they pretty much barrel through three quarters of the game pretty well. Well, they kind of have to. Since. You know. Kirkland is their coach and everything. And Matthew doesn't want to leave this game feeling like he's done so fucking much and not gotten anywhere. There's so much on the line right now, it's not even funny.

The Whitecats and The Inventors are tied, two to two. And Matthew just feels like something has to happen. Right. Fucking. Now. And if he doesn't do something then it just sort of feels like he's fought for nothing. They can't lose this game. He just. No. There's no way he's come this far and about to lose to some dude who's taunting them by saying he fucking invented milk. No one fucking invented _milk_. It comes from. Cows. _Cows. _

Katya, Gilbert, Eduard, and Alfred are pretty much cheering as much as they

There are seven seconds left in the game.

Raivis, in a last ditch resort, passes Matthew the puck because he can't really do anything to save them at this point.

And Matthew is not about to leave this game empty-handed.

Matthew has had this little tight black ball of rage tied up in his chest since the first time someone mistook him for Alfred. Since the first time his Dad forgot to pick him up. Since the first time someone threw their change at him while he was working the counter over at the ice cream shop. Since the first time Lukas decided to get to get high instead of driving him to work.

And. You know what? It's about time he got rid of it. So. Matthew does the only thing that really makes sense to him.

Kirkland turns away from the glass because he just can't watch his best team since the beginning of forever lose. Katya and the rest of their faux-cheerleaders have stopped cheering. All of them except Alfred. But he's an idiot and he doesn't really know what's going on.

And Matthew shoots.

And Matthew scores. Just. As. The Buzzer. Rings.

And. Just like. _That, _The Whitecats win their game. They win their play-off. And who cares if they won by one lousy goal? Because. Seriously? This moment is so perfect that there really could be anything better about it. Kirkland punches the glass and the broken hand is completely worth it because. Really? This is what he lives for.

Gilbert and the rest of the cheerleaders go insane in the stands and it's all just so perfect. And Matthew feels like crying but he can't. Because.

Well. Because he just won their game for them.

And. Oh. My. God. It's finally Friday.

And. Well. They won.

* * *

The team is on their way back home from the game and it's pretty amazing. Mathias is halfway through the best rendition of _So Happy I Could Die_ the team has ever heard. Well, mainly because. You know. They pretty much _are_ so happy they could die. Especially Kirkland. Who's half-way through turning this into a Drinking Song Lady Gaga mash-up.

Katya, though. Is sitting alone in a chair practically dead. She's very sure that she's dying from Ebola. Alright, it's actually the flu. But it doesn't really matter because she feels like, either way. She's just going to die. And she's got this god-awful headache.

Then she feels a blanket settle around her shoulder and she cracks her eyes open to see who it is. It's not Ivan. It's Matthew. He pushes a water bottle into her hands and gives her a tiny, shy smile. And. She's not about to resist any sort of care.

"Drink that. You need to stay hydrated." And Matthew?

Well, he just sits right next to her. And if he's got their hands intertwined, well, that's not that much a bad thing right? Although, somehow through the long ride home, Katya falls asleep with her head on Matthew's lap.

And. Okay. That's just a little bit awkward. But. Hey. It's sort of okay.


End file.
